


Simple Life

by anddirtyrain



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:05:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4881397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anddirtyrain/pseuds/anddirtyrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smiley morning runs and breakfast shenanigans.</p><p>Or, my take on that scene at the beginning of the trailer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Life

 

Warmth. That’s all he feels as he wakes up, his mind clearing the fog of sleep slower than he’s used to. It’s a welcome change, waking up this leisurely; an armful of sleeping Felicity in his embrace and the warm rays of the early sun on his back. It’s a good morning.

Felicity’s shorter hair is all over the pillow next to him, and her lips are moving, mumbling something or another like he’s come to know she does when on the edge of waking up.

An arm on either side of her, he leans down.

“Hey” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek, causing her to duck her head and burrow further into the pillow. He smiles. “I’m going for a run, ok?”

She mumbles something unintelligible, her brow furrowing in confusion at being waken up before 10 am. He kisses her again before getting out of bed, pulling on sneakers and a t-shirt, and the green hoodie she bought for him in a little shop somewhere in Hawaii. (The cashier that charged her was the first person to ask them how long they’d been married for, so he has nothing but fond memories for the first stop on their trip.) 

He sneaks one last look at her before leaving the sanctity of their bedroom. She’s still half asleep, the white sheets just covering the curve of her ass, and the early morning light that crawls through the window makes her naked back seem gold. She decided last night that it was too hot to wear a shirt to bed, and promptly pulled it off over her head. He wasn’t about to disagree with her.

 He closes the door after himself, hurries down the stairs and sprints the minute he’s outside. It’s different, now. The exercise. He finds he genuinely enjoys working out these days, feeling the blood rush through his body and his muscles burn from the exertion. Before, he had to do it, if he wanted to survive on the island and everything that followed. And it kept him alive and sharp in Starling. But now…he can legitimately slow down and smell the fucking roses or stop to hand their basketball to the neighbor’s kids, or just not do anything at all. It’s simple and ridiculous. He loves every second of it.

 He jogs until he reaches the sea, two dozen blocks from their house. Felicity’s been doing some freelance work for a tech shop downtown today, and he thinks if she’s not too busy they could come for lunch. He could prepare a basket of food and feed her, watch her run away from the waves the entire afternoon. Oliver really can’t think of a better way to spend their afternoon. He hurries the last mile to their house. Their house. He can’t help the smile that takes over his face, can’t really help it these days. He thinks about her, still warm and drowsy on their bed. Perhaps he could coax her into showering with him before he makes her breakfast. He hurries the rest of the way home

A pleasant smell greets him the minute he enters the house.

“Felicity?”

He walks through the living room, bright morning light flooding the entire space. Sometimes he’s still taken by surprise that this is his life now, the tall windows and the white walls, every room drenched in sunlight.

The house is huge by their newly established standards, three rooms besides the one they’re occupying, where they vaguely planned to put in an office for her and a home gym for him when they leased it. (They’d looked at each other fleetingly as they signed the papers to the house, both acknowledging the bad math and putting that conversation -the family-friendly neighborhood, all that space just for the two of them- aside until they were both ready to talk about it.)

 After so many years living in the dark, inside his own head and in the damp basement that was their old lair before she made it livable, the change is startling. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. He follows the smell of something frying into the open space in front of their kitchen, where he finds her; sitting on the counter, making breakfast. The sight hits him straight in the chest.

She’s immersed in the book in her hands, and entirely not concentrated enough in whatever she has on the pan, and he loves her.

“Hey.”

“Oh,” she looks at him, surprised. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he greets, walking closer to her and nuzzling her neck.

“Very good morning,” she affirms, and he chuckles. “How was your run? Way faster than it needed to be? Because I wanted to surprise you.”

“Believe me, I’m...surprised. What are you making?” he sneaks a peek into the pan.

“Hash browns. Why do you sound scared?” she asks, deadpan.

He doesn’t answer, just grabs her by the waist and helps her down from the counter. He gently tugs the book from her hand. “Cooking to impress, huh?”

“Shut up,” she ducks her head.

He playfully grabs her hand, pulling her arms around his waist and she willingly steps closer to him.

“No, I like it,” he kisses her exposed shoulder. “But you don’t need to learn how to cook to impress me, or anyone,” he says. “You already do that,” he kisses her forehead, “everyday,” he presses a kiss to her jaw. The most beautiful smile takes over her face.

“You’re kinda supposed to say that,” she tells him.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” he says, and leans down to capture her smile with his lips.

He doesn’t kiss her like it’s the first time. Their first kiss tasted of pain and goodbyes. Their following kisses weren’t that much better, knowing they had a time frame, were counted –given lovingly but on stolen time.

He kisses her like he did that night, after they saved Starling and she saved him, and the Team had gone home. Soft and slow, all consuming. They don’t pull away until they’re breathless, until he gasp against her lips and she pants little breaths on his.

He looks down at her, at the flush spreading across her cheeks. She bites her lip, looking him straight in the eyes and raising an eyebrow like a challenge. He drops the cooking book and brings her back to him, a hand on her cheek and the other pressing on her lower back.  

“Oliver,” she moans, and her fingers are moving, pulling his hoodie up and he steps away for less than a second to pull it over his head. He meets her lips again, and suddenly pressing her closer is not enough.

He runs his hands down her back, over her ass, gives her a squeeze to let her know and then picks her up. Her gasp sends a jolt straight to his groin.

“I’ll never get tired of that,” she laughs as he deposits her on their breakfast island. She spreads her legs and he immediately steps in between them.

“Then I’ll never stop doing it,” he tells her, sucking a path down her neck

“Good, ah,” she tangles her finger into his hair. “Idea. Yes, very good idea. A+ even.”

“Felicity,” he chuckles her name into her skin as he works to get her sweatpants off.

“Can you blame a girl?” she laughs, raising up on her hands as he pulls the piece of clothing off. She’s not far behind, straining to get the practical drawstring of his sweatpants loose. They drop to the floor a second later, and he’s in the process of kicking them off when he catches eyes of her slightly confused demeanor.

“What’s that?”

“Huh?” he asks, a little -insulted? alarmed? “Wh-”

He doesn’t need the answer after all, as his nostrils pick up the acrid burning smell a second later.

He turns around impressively fast, even for someone who knows the Flash, and hurries to the stove, where the pan with charred, once-hash-browns sits. He carries her to the sink, where thick billows of smoke raise up.

He turns to look back at Felicity, who’s still flushed, breathing heavily, and sitting on the breakfast island. A rather amused smile paints her face.

“I’d like to point out,” she holds up her hands, “this one wasn’t on me.”


End file.
